


Him

by Doodsxd



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Tony Stark, Cliffs of Insanity, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Violence, Dark, Dependency, Forgive Me, Geniuses, Happy Ending, Help, How Do I Tag, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tom Odell had his way with my mind, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Top Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2385494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodsxd/pseuds/Doodsxd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those dreams were his only opportunity of not needing to mold or judge himself to please someone, because the abyss into Loki's eyes were as deep and dark as his own. Dream or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are again. I just don't know how to give up, do I?
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_Love, I have wounds only you can mend._

_You can mend._

 

_Can’t Pretend_

_Tom Odell_

 

It was him. It was always him, all the time. Running under his veins, like something more primitive than the very blood, more essential than the very flesh. It was _him._

Him, that populated his days and nights, and all his dreams and fears and goals. _Him._ Who created, with the simple act of defenestrating, a new intricate of Stark, like the shards of a broken object that were glued from the wrong side, forming something indefinable. He wasn’t good since Afghanistan, since Obie, since Shield. But _him_ , he _shattered_ the already fragile soul, stunned by the shaking of a life that wasn’t made for him.

Tony Stark wasn’t made for war. He was made for creation, for invention, for the art of rubbing into the faces of who told him something was impossible that he was capable of reaching the fucking impossible, for the urgency that seemed like geniality, but was merely stubbornness and arrogance, to twist the world to adequate it for him, and not the contrary.

But it all changed because of him. Him, the Norse God son of a bitch that descended to Earth and thought that could command the planet. _His_ planet. He didn’t know how to share his toys on the playground, and wouldn’t start learning now.

And it made him paranoid. After a week he gave up on trying to sleep and started drinking until he passed out, to avoid the nightmares. _Free fall. Just a human, without any control on his own life or death._

Loki became the very air he breathed. From day to night, his goal was to impede Loki, to stop Loki, to brake Loki, to stop him from escaping prison, to stop him from using magic, to stop him from dominating the world, to stop him from _killing_ him. To stop him from taking from the inventor the little sense of security he recovered since his kidnapping was ordered by his own fucking godfather, that he could _do_ something, that he wasn’t just some useless shitty human, that he was _capable_ of defending _at least his own head._ And Pepper’s, of course. She came as a bonus.

And now, _Loki._ Loki escaped Asgard, right under Thor’s idiotic and Odin’s suck nose, Odin, who was another son of a bitch for creating two sons like _that._ Because Tony knew very well that anger, hatred that verged fucking _insanity_ like the God of Mischief and Lies carried into his eyes, voice, _smell_ , wasn’t something that would come from nothing, nowhere. In the only time Tony had attended the therapy sessions Pepper scheduled for him, the woman told him that aggressors acquired the need to hurt from someone. He did not believe the determinism that that phrase carried - he himself was there to prove that he could bend his own rage into something _productive_ , but, hey, it was simply _impossible_ to stop making comparison between Loki, the trapped snake, and _Thor,_ the mighty God of Thunder, heir of the throne, innocent and happy merely with pop-tarts, inconsequential by his own ingenuity, who sometimes looked like a lion with a golden mane, and, another times, a fucking kicked puppy. No, someone had pissed in that cereal, and Tony was betting all his chips on the Allfather.

And now, again, Loki. Destroying the little sense of security Tony recovered with the armor, with Jarvis, with the Avengers. Having the Hulk on his side used to make him less wary, but not there. Now, Loki knew what they all were capable of. Now, Loki knew how to dodge every single one of them. Besides Tony. Because Tony fucking insisted to be a _big surprise_ to that motherfucker.

He worked day and night, irrigated by alcohol and nightmares, by “reject call” and “no, thank you”. Yes, _no, thank you,_ because he didn’t get laid since Pepper had broken up with him. Pepper, poor _Pepper,_ now dated Steve, but, because she cared, tried to hide it from the eyes of her boss and ex-boyfriend, to avoid hurting him more. Tony thought it was cute. Really. He didn’t blame her, never did. Tony, his body, his _soul_ , it was too broken, too crumpled, too dirty. Too lost. And Pepper, Pepper was so _pretty_ and strong and gentle. It seemed like a contradiction, being strong and gentle, but her strength laid in her capacity to _understand_ and _in being understood._ That was how she kept taking care of him, reprehending him and being a girder onto his life all the time. They would always love each other. Just not _that way_ , because everyone that got too close from Tony would eventually run from the dark abyss that his eyes were made of. There was _despair_ and _fear_ and _pain_ under his skin, there was _terror_ echoing through his eardrums, and he knew, with each look to his side, to Pepper, Rhodey, Steve, _anyone_ , that it was too much to take. But _Bruce,_ Bruce probably understood. And _Loki._

That was why, maybe caused by the lack of a sexual life, maybe caused by the madness that was fated to bury its claws into the billionaire’s brain, maybe caused by the many times he dreamt about that moment, when Loki (always _Loki_ ) cut his air supply with only one hand, holding his entire body like he did not weight more than a rag doll, and, looking into his eyes, on the very _inside_ , he saw, for a second, his shadow _mirrored_ into those so ironically bright, pale eyes; because of that millisecond when Tony _saw himself_ on Loki, a _reflection_ , an _equal_ , with the same hatred, the same rage, the same _terror_ haunting those _eyes_ , the human’s dreams started to change.

They changed. Changed to all the possibilities, divagating on each choice taken on that day, that damned day. They changed to the couch, where he and Loki sat down and shared that drink. They changed to the couch, where he and Loki sat down, shared that drink, teased each other and kissed, touched each other’s dick, sucked each other (sometimes it was the mortal’s mouth to suck the pleasure of a deliciously composed God of Lies; sometimes Tony’s lips tore moans from a pale body with sinfully pink cheeks and robbed him of his control, that was dragged out in screams of please, don’t stop, more; sometimes it was _Tony_ who felt the immortal’s tongue making him even more insane that he was before.).

Then his mind, while he, asleep, couldn’t control it, went further away, and switched the _place_ where the dreams unfolded. Switched it to a place with less _windows_ and a drop more of that sensation of _security_ , but no less adrenalin, never less adrenalin. The dreams changed to his _bedroom_ , and, thereafter, Tony gave up surprising himself.

Now there was skin, moans, sighs, snarls, and more skin on skin, bumping, dry, wet, _in_ and _out,_ there was _smell_ and _pleasure_ and _pain,_ there was _teeth_ and _lips_ and _eyes,_ there was _hands_ and _hair_ and _tongue,_ and there _was. Was._ Simply _was_. It was one on another. It was similars, opposites, it was two and it was one, and it was only theirs. And these dreams, these _dreams_ remembered Tony of what he missed without ever knowing, of what was missing since his adolescence. It made him remember of what Howard was so sure of taking of him _forever_ , of uprooting.

In those dreams with _Loki_ he didn’t have to try. He was completely sure he did not have to. With Pepper, with Obadiah, with Rhodes, with fucking Shield, with the doubly damned and triply virgin Capscicle, with the media, with _everyone_ and _anyone_ he had to try. No exceptions. It was condition _sine qua non_ of the existence of each and every one of these relationships, his effort, his commitment, his dedication, his _exhaustion._ And he was exhausted. Exhausted. In those dreams with Loki, the simple fact of _existing_ was enough. Enough to be desired, wanted, longed and yearned. Tony, into that parallel universe created by his troubled mind, didn’t have to be careful to hide some parts of him, to take the horrendous and dreadful out of sight, everything _bad_ that made himself who he was.

In those dreams, like a balm to his shattered and re-forged, crooked and discontinuous spirit, Tony was _whole_ in front of someone, whole and naked. Without causing disgust or pity. Everything under the light. Without causing sorrow, without shame or fear. In those dreams, precisely for _being_ , for opening himself up, ruined, but somehow _complete_ , he was _devoured_ by someone that _hungered_ him, and him only, hungered every scream and every whimper and every growl that only he could manage to utter, because only he _felt_ the way he felt, _saw_ the way he saw, and _thrived_ the way the thrived. Those dreams were his only opportunity of not needing to mold or judge himself to please someone, because the abyss into Loki’s eyes were as deep and dark as his own. Dream or not.

And it was because of _those dreams_ that, when Loki reappeared into his Tower, waiting, _lurking_ in the dark, Tony didn’t get scared. Not like he should, with tireless eyes calculating his escape and hair rising up just for fun. Not with the despair of being so far away from his precious bracelets, his only protection against all the crazy shit on the nine or _nine thousand_ reigns that floated out there, waiting for their turn.

“You do not look like someone that was caught by surprise with my presence in here” The God commented, observing the mortal with the same dead fire into his eyes, sitting on the couch like he owned it. The inventor would never say it wasn’t, not after everything his mind suggested doing on it.

Diverting his eyes back to the green ones, he shrugged. “I’m not.” That ripped a discrete arch of an eyebrow from the aristocratic face. “What do you want here?”

The indifference seemed to make the gears of the other’s mind run. “Without a ‘how did you get in?’ Without a speech about avenging your realm or threats of how you will send me back to Asgard dead or alive?” He asked, uncrossing his legs, just to cross them again.

The brunette apparently had a script on his mind of how things would go there. But _Tony_ , Tony was _tired_ of doing what everyone expected, and burdened with a probably really stupid will to scratch that impulse to _do whatever he wanted and tell the whole world to suck it._ That’s why he threw himself right next to the one Loki was on, letting his breath out through his nose and mouth at the same time, loudly, and groaning lowly with the action, demonstrating deep satisfaction in the act of sitting down and letting the tension accumulated during the day _go away_ while he threw his head back and closed his eyes, relaxing right beside his worst enemy.

When he reopened his eyes, Tony saw Loki observing him mindfully, a spark of interest into the green orbs. Decided to answer. “Nah. Not Today. Too tired for that.”. Then he put his hands on the nape of his neck, a little theatrically he admitted. “Came to that drink?”.

“No,” Loki fidgeted a little. _Uncomfortable, disconcerted._ Tony almost smiled. “I came to prove you wrong.”

“Hum,” the billionaire rose softly and slid to the bar, pouring himself a shot of whiskey. He grabbed another one for Loki, even without the God asking him to, and delivered it into his hands before sitting back again. “I was wrong about many things. Of what ignorance, specifically, you want to free me?”

One sip. Two sips. Some blinking. Loki looked like someone who didn’t know what to say. “When you doubted my masculinity.” He answered, realizing how childish he sounded. “You were wrong.”

Tony huffed a chuckle before looking at him again. “I bet this scene unfolded a lot better in your head, didn’t it?” He smirked, still under Loki’s cautious silence.

“Are you not understanding what it implies?” He questioned, legitimately confused. “Is it not detestable to you the prospect of being forced by me, Man of Iron?”

And then, like a caged eel, more efficient than gracious, more objective than elegant, the human’s smile glided through his lips, dripping auto-irony and _desire._ “I just don’t see why the _forced_ part should sound like a _threat_.” Slowly, small, he let realization ascend into the immortal’s eyes. After an inquiring silence, he extended his own smile and commented, “You fucked me so many times in my own mind that my only fear is that reality _isn’t as good_ as my imagination.”

Because that was Tony, raw and insane, flirting with death and blowing kisses to the devil. That was Tony, letting free the demons that lived in his head, loose and unashamed, pissing on light poles and fucking Gods Of Mischief and Chaos – a very appropriate deity for his state of mind, by the way – until he got a rash.

The surprise hadn’t left the green eyes yet. More seconds. _Tic toc_. “What did you say?”

“I said kiss me now,” He answered, getting rid of his jacket in a precise gesture. “and get into your head that you’re not going to _force_ me into anything. Get into your head that _I want_ to get fucked by you, and that you have my yes to do it whenever you want, because I dreamed _so much_ about it that I don’t really give a damn anymore.” He completed. “But you should know that if you try to kill me, or to kill Pepper or Rhodey, or if you try to dominate the world again, I will kill you. Against everything Thor and Odin determined, against their threats and the ones from Shield that they would kill me if I did it, against my own lack of means to do it right now, I will _create_ something that can kill you and I _will annihilate_ you. Even if I have to die with you.” Tony finished. “These are my terms. I also don’t plan on killing you or giving anyone else the means to do it. I won’t share what’s mine with anyone else.” He smiled. “Otherwise, I’m all yours.”

Those might have been the right words. Yes, they might. Cause Loki ( _LokiLokiLoki_ ) let his lower lip shudder in a way that showed you his composure was hanging by a thread. He was probably calculating all the possibilities, every possible trap and second intentions that human might have had for him, and visualizing every possible outcomes. But Tony wasn’t _thinking._ And he didn’t want Loki to think too, because he obviously came to rape him, in a vain attempt to break his spirit that in other circumstances would’ve worked. And Tony did not want to think about that, or about how stupid he was being, or in how all o that could be considered as treason to America. Or worst: the world. And the world didn’t have the habit of being gentle with traitors.

That was why Loki shouldn’t think too. And, to interrupt him, Tony had the perfect weapon, _perfectly_ satisfactory to both sides of that equation.

The playboy threw himself in the seat next to Loki and leaned into him. Saw how he trembled, saw the glint of uncertainty populating the greenish look. Then he closed his eyes and touched his lips to the God’s cold ones, and didn’t see anything else.

As he seemed a little bit unsettled, Tony decided the better way to approach him was to do it _slowly._ He let his lips slide gently against his, before asking passage with his tongue. The startle made the god open them before the insistence of the inventor. He was surprisingly warm and soft, and _sweet_. Something like lime, peppermint and metal, something like the natural juice from something that had a bitter peel and the interior delicious for those who didn’t mind acidity. Something like _Loki._

The kiss started like it begun: out of nowhere. The both of them opened their eyes and stared each other, and the abysses started to collide. At least until Loki got on his feet and disappeared.

And Tony smiled. And Tony laughed. And Tony laid on the couch and slept, better than he did in a long time.

___


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki considers Tony's proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to remind you that I do not have a beta reader, so, all mistakes are on me, and on my Word, that didn't corret me. 
> 
> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_Feel, my skin is rough, but it can be cleansed._

_It can be cleansed._

_My arms are though_

_But they can be bent._

_They can be bent._

 

_Cant’ Pretend._

_Tom Odell._

 

Loki hated. He hated Thor for making him thrive for approval, almost the same way he hated Odin for being the cunning snake he was. He hated hope, hated to feel anything beyond anger, hated Thanos for making him weak. Hated to feel and hated to have to pretend he did not feel anything at all. He hated everything that robbed him of his control on his own lungs. But, above all, he hated to feel anything that wasn’t hate.

And, for that exact reason, he hated Tony Stark.  

He had watched the agency he worked for. They sent everything to Stark. To do anything they called Stark. And they used his money too, sometimes. His brains and his technology and his warrants and  the science he made were the foundation of that institution.

That was why the best strategy to take down the brain of the task force was to break Stark. It shouldn’t be difficult. He was just a man, after all. And what better way, more cruel and harsh, than to throw his own defiance words back to him, showing him what he earned from daring Chaos?

He didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect being _desired_ by the human, much less seeing the reflex of his own essence into the coffee eyes.

Tony Stark was _chaos_ himself. He was kilometers after kilometers of undefined piece of scorched and roasted and rusty metal that somehow he made _work_. Tony Stark _created_ and _shaped_ and _forged_ reality the way he wanted it. And he saw the world through eyes that captured light through colored glass, shapeless, _inventing_ the lines as he went by it. And not always the shapes he saw coincided to those on the plan of life he habited. If that was the case, he would go, bare hands full of the scars that possessed those who _knew_ what they were doing, and _bended_ the world to his whim.

And then… then he spoke. He said what he wanted. Without masking desire to reach another goal, even if Loki still saw something behind his actions, Tony Stark _wanted_ him. It was clear in his eyes, in the way he exhibited his own body, uninhibited and unarmed, with something so languid and _hot_ that attracted him like a flame would catch his eyes when he was little, even if he knew he would burn himself.

With this, _this¸_ he didn’t know how to deal. He didn’t know what to do, what to think, and _how, by the Norns,_ he was supposed to repress those uncontrolled emotions. Loki did not deal with self-control. He was the God of Chaos, and did not know how to deal with confusion. He was the God of Lies, and did not know how to deal with the _truth._ Even with those that spoke of him.

And Stark forced him to look to himself. Stark _forced him to look to himself_ in a way he didn’t do in _centuries_. In a way he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to see his own flaws, weaknesses, the holes in his armor dripping his essence that was too big to fit in any mold.

But Stark didn’t seem bothered about anything he saw. He was _attracted_ to Loki, who was as broken as himself.  He thrived for the shards, the incoherencies, the irreprehensible and destructible forces that prevented him from giving up without taking the rest of the world with him.

And his desire poked yours with a short stick. Tony was a fascinating man, you realized. Self-destructive, inconsequent, spoiled and _fascinating_. He took your breath, and you couldn’t breathe, the most primitive nourishment your body had, without even leaving that sofa. And that was an absolutely detestable achievement.

And he _adored._ With fear, with apprehension, but he adored.

Six days after, when he put his head in its place and decided  what to do, he returned to the Tower.

___

He hungered. Tony Stark _hungered._ Hungered for being desired, adored, wanted, wished. All of that was said before. What was not, is the unspeakable.

Unspeakable, because there was no way to explain Loki, standing by the corner of the kitchen while Tony grabbed a bear, looking at him.

“You said you would not try to kill me unless I threatened your friends.” He said suddenly, drawing the attention of the inventor that, until then, wasn’t aware of his presence in the Tower.

“Yeah, I said that.” He nodded, taking of the lid of the bottle with his teeth. Just for fun. Loki was a prince, elegant and well-mannered. Tony was as rude as a servant, and would love to rub the dirt in his hands on the immaculate pale skin anytime.

The God stepped towards the light. “And you said you would be mine.”

The shiver that went up the mortal’s spine was but pleasure. “Yeah, I said it.”

He pondered. “You enjoy belonging to someone.”

“Yes.” Tony confessed. “Yes, I like it.”

“Why me?” The question sounded innocent.

The answer, that came from curved lips and luscious smile, not so much. “Because you and I are the same.”

“Hum.” He shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I disagree.”

“No, you don’t.” Tony smiled. “I have horror under my skin, Loki. I have pain and dread and fear, I have an abyss that is as dark as my soul and every moment I’m drowning into it.” He stopped right in front of the other man. _Whole_ , finally. “I want you to come in and _see me._ I need somebody to _see me_ , Loki, without running away or turning around or judging. Without taking pity on me. And you are the only one I know that can.” Now, with open arms, the inventor continued. “So give up now if it’s too much for you or _come_ and _devour me. Consume_ me, _take_ me, and I promise I will be yours, and only yours, as no one in this world and all the others has ever been before.”

Something audibly _broke_ into the God. Loki wasn’t obedient – what would be chaos and lies and trickery if they followed _rules?_ – but he saw himself savoring  the human’s body with his eyes, like he had suggested him to. He never felt so _wanted_ until that moment. No one had ever given themselves up into his arms like that before. At his mercy, by option, by _trust,_ trust that came from Odin knew where. Maybe the inventor read him too well. Maybe he trusted too much that Loki felt exactly the way he did too, like a reflex getting to know itself even in shallow waters, wishing to dive in.

Anyway, even being as stupid as he was, luck was on Stark’s side.

“On your knees.” He said and suddenly felt the flame that grew in his stomach take his limbs gradually, in waves of molten lava. Ready to consume. To destroy.

But Stark had nothing to lose.

Loki couldn’t hide the huff of breath that escaped his lips in awe when the human did exactly what he was told to.

Overwhelmed by the thought, he forgot all of that he should remember (like, he should treat Tony Stark like a _slave,_ not like anything else, right?) and his mind all but _gave up thinking_ cause it was all _too much_ and _too strong_ and _holy Yggdrasil, what is happening to me?_

Suddenly, Loki was on his knees too, and he was kissing Stark so deeply he could taste his soul, the acid bitter taste of metal, fear and pain, and he just wanted _more._

He lowered his lips and grabbed the human’s short hair before kissing him again. Before _possessing_ his mouth like he suggested he should. Sliding his tongue always deeper, exploring every millimeter, mapping each and every curve, every tooth. _Mine. Mineminemine._

The thought started losing control, and the look that came from Stark was nothing but surrender. He would take everything the God was willing to give. Worst, he would _delight_ with every drop of whatever Loki gave min. The world started pulsing in a primitive rhythm he did not recognize, but that made his blood start to sing a melody older than the universe. Even Odin must have heard it, from up there.

_Watch this, son of a bitch._

He knew Tony could, knew Tony was able to take him. To bear the weight he carried on his back, to accommodate his insanity between his arms and lull it from screaming, without fear and without peace. That’s why he let the hungry monster, that he didn’t even knew existed, interlaced with his navel as if with an umbilical-cord, fed by his ire placenta, go free, loose, _happy to serve._

Tony did not protest when Loki slapped his face with force that made him fall to the floor. Didn’t protest when a kick followed close by, hitting his ribs. He didn’t even flinch when another one came. Then, with a hand on his hair, the God made him kneel again, head against the wooden counter, and forced him to swallow his half-hard dick, without giving him space to breathe. He felt his own warm balls against his chin, his throat closing around him, gasping for the air that wouldn’t come, sore, but he didn’t push him, and his heart skip a beat before he blacked out for a moment.

When he reopened his eyes, Chaos incarnated went back to fucking his mouth, and Tony couldn’t say he was unhappy about it. To know that he was the cause of it, every throb, every stronger flavor indicated that Loki was _leaking_ for him, out of control, made the mortal’s cock twitch. He sucked with abandon, as if there was nothing else than that.

But there was. In one instant they were in the kitchen, on the other the billionaire had his own bed sustaining his back. Some more moments and he was naked. On his stomach, with his head buried in one fluffy pillow, with a God of Lies opening him with his fingers, one, two, three, and only then lubrication came to ease the process. He reached his prostate with the easiness of someone who had millennia of experience, tearing a moan from him. Then he positioned himself and _pushed_.

And Tony _received, accommodated, welcomed_ wonderfully. He wailed and writhed delightfully under the taller man’s body, taking everything that was given, taking _everything._ Absorbing Loki, in his worst, _sipping_ him as if he _needed_ him. A bubble of something warm and euphoric bursted in his chest while he fucked him, tearing howl after howl, sigh and grunt over cry and requests that sounded like _prayers_ that the God couldn’t but to answer.

When Stark reached his orgasm, all tense, all breathless, all groans and _“fuck, Loki”_ , he didn’t even noticed his own coming before stars exploded under his eyes and the black hole that remained behind him sucked every drop of oxygen from his lungs.

He let his own body fall limp on Stark, who hadn’t said anything against what the immortal had done yet. He only tried to regain his breath, shivered and tender, soft against the bigger body against his, it _had_ to be uncomfortable. But it wasn’t.

The suffocating pressure reminded him he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. His scream had crossed his own abyss and reached someone else’s, someone who _responded._

For a moment, he didn’t need anything else.

Then the God withdrew from him and sat by his side, seeming to put effort in being awake. Already half-asleep, everything the human felt was warm hands wandering on his body: ass, neck, head, knees, ribs. The analgesic sensation that followed told him that Loki was using magic to heal him from everything he had caused. The monster had already gained his freedom and was happy knowing he didn’t had to be caged anymore. The first explosion was the most violent; from then on the destructive impulse would relax on its own.

And Loki was grateful. He was _grateful_ for being able to do it, to let that pained part of him loose, like a strained muscle being tense for too long, that hurt intensely from being stretched, but that, once the pain stopped, vibrated with the will to live again.

And that gratefulness made him relieve the mortal from his own pain, to heal the bruises he caused, to _cure_ and to _take care_ of his body like he _took care_ of everything that was his. _Mine._ And Stark wasn’t probably even noticing he was moaning lowly, in distinct tones, but tuned, as if he was humming a song. He smiled lopsidedly, once the human couldn’t see him, but repressed the urge from his diaphragm that wanted to make it a _laugh_.

And he held his breath and Tony started continuously murmuring, like a prayer, while he was falling asleep, _“thank you, thank you, thank you”._

Loki allowed himself to slide a finger through he attractive curve of the man’s spine, over the golden and slightly sweaty skin. “No, Stark. Thank _you._ ”

 

___

 

He had offered every piece of himself. Everything he had left, that he glued back together with trembling hands, he had delivered to Loki, whose mind turned at the same pace and angle as the earth beneath his heels. He felt the weight of that responsibility settle itself comfortably over his shoulders. Like a soft blanket.

Now Loki felt protective. And famished. Famished for that twisted soul that managed to capture his and fit it whole. Which touch had contained it like it was meant for this.

Tony opened his eyes slowly, lazy, and smiled to him. And _by the Nine_ if it wasn’t the best thing on the Universe to have someone smiling at him simply for the reason of seeing him by the morning. He felt goosebumps.

“You slept here.” He declared, grinning. “Can I have a shower first or do you want me to arrange breakfast before that?” He asked sleepily.

There. _There._ He was _asking_ Loki what he _could_ do. He still acted like he belonged to him, even if sex had already ended. Even if he kicked his ribs the night before, and tried to dominate the world, as well as threw himself out of the window into death’s mouth, a while before.

“I might end up killing you.” He stated, looking at the human attentively.

Tony shook his head. “If you’re anything like me, you take care of what’s yours.” He stretched himself, exhibiting his body a little shyly. The God must have had uncountable lovers. Even if Tony Stark was a confident bastard, he didn’t know if he could, or if he should, try to compete with Gods. He could end up making himself look like a fool before him.

“I am nothing like you.” He replied softly. “I usually break my possessions.”

“Me too.” He admitted, still grinning. “But I don’t do it on purpose. And I can deal with occasional incidents.”

_“Occasional incidents._ That is how you are naming the influence I have over you. Every possible consequence.” He commented.

Instead of answering, the human stood up from the bed and kissed him smoothly. He looked content about it. With _belonging._ It must have been it.

If Loki had known it was so simple, he wouldn’t have had to plan to rape him.

The inventor left the bed and went to the bathroom, taking a quick shower. Went out wrapped on the towel and guided him by the hand towards the bathroom. “Do you know how to use everything in here?” He asked, receiving a nod as an answer. “OK. Come to the kitchen when you’re finished.” Tony instructed and left him alone.

When he arrived in the kitchen, wrapped in one towel too, breakfast was leaving paper bags from its place in the counter.

“I didn’t know what would you like.” He shrugged and Loki nodded again, realizing he was being _taken care of._ It was a strange finding.

“It is alright.” He said naturally, pulling a chair to sit and grabbing a little piece of toasted bacon, really crispy, to eat. Tony looked happy about it, and sat by his side to eat.

 

___

 

He came back a couple of weeks after that. He was looking for some sex. He was looking for Stark’s hot and soft mouth, his blind acceptance of everything Loki wanted from him. He was looking for physical pleasure and the desperate little sighs that came from the man, the feeling that he was capable of making him into that mess of sweat, saliva, tears and come, and the palpitating satisfaction or hearing him thank him by the end of it.

But the man was crying on his sleep. He was a mess, yes, but in another way. And in an unexpected one. Emotional. And Loki saw himself by the corner of the bedroom, in the dark, watching the human release soft sobs for about half an hour, before disappearing as fast as he came.

 

___


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending ensues. Like promised in the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy.

_Oh, feel our bodies grow,_

_And our souls, they blend._

_Yeah, love, I hope you know_

_How much of my heart depends._

 

_Can’t pretend._

_Tom Odell._

 

They were in the bathroom, naked, Loki buried in the mortal’s neck and ass cheeks while he pounded fiercely. Pulling his hair just to make his back perform that beautiful arch, his buttocks tilted in his dick’s direction and his teeth paining the skin of Tony’s nape, Loki growled while the inventor moaned with ease.

He didn’t think much before leveling things up and guiding Stark’s head bluntly to the potty, intending to asphyxiate him enough to increase his pleasure and to the power-hungry monster in his belly to be satisfied.

It took about ten seconds for Tony to wind the fight and disentangle himself completely from the God, panting with deep despair, dark eyes, breathing like his throat was constricting from water and panic. He shrank down, fighting against the wet and slippery floor, on the very corner of the shower, hugging his own knees, and Loki felt a cube of dry ice inflame his stomach, hating the sensation and hating himself. That was it? He had already reached the limit? Stark was going to dismiss him, was going to say he’d rather die than to take him again?

Had he already _broken_ the mortal, _unintentionally?_

He observed in silence while waiting for Tony to calm down. But he wasn’t calming down. And he knew how to cause _fear_ , he knew how to cause _pain_ , he knew how to cause everything Tony was feeling. He just didn’t know how to _fix_ it.

Approximately three minutes passed, then. Loki, on his feet, watching the human in his vain attempt to hide from the world, to shrink and pass unseen, and, then, unattainable. But it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible to be invisible. Loki had already tried. And the task to be invisible was even harder to somebody with so much tendency to shine as Anthony Stark.

“Anthony.” He called the mortal, who snapped his eyes in his direction. “Wash your face and come to bed.” He commanded. “I will be waiting.” The mortal nodded and he left the bathroom.

It wasn’t selfishness, no. If it was, Loki could keep fucking the mortal’s scared body. He could have said sweet words, made him lean on him, made him become completely dependent of him, in such a way he wouldn’t be able to bear the horror and the madness in his absence. It wasn’t just because he had difficulty in dealing with other’s emotions, but because he had to _make_ Stark keep functioning while facing his own fears. He _had_ to teach him how to avoid his own mind traps, to push those thoughts down, to guide his line of reasoning in a way to control his emotions with strong reins. Because that, that was the only way Loki knew how to deal with himself. And with Stark.

He reappeared on the bedroom next, still with slumped shoulders, hollow eyes, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He sat on the bed beside the God, waiting for him to guide him. But he didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Tony said softly, staring his own feet.

Loki said nothing and the mortal felt tears bubbling from his chest to his eyes. “Loki, I’m sor-”

“We will forget this.” He said with sharp tone. “We will forget this, after I understand. If you are mine, I have to understand how you work.” Green eyes fixed on the inventor’s, who nodded. “Then, you will explain it to me now, and we will never touch the subject again, unless it becomes necessary again.” _Because neither I, or anyone else, can free you. Just yourself._

And he told him. Without crying, without batting an eyelash, he told everything, a river disemboguing from the front door, without leaking to the slopes, going to the right place. And Loki listened, stored and bore the weight with him, alleviating the pressure that suffocated the little mortal, who was more his with each day that was gone by. Each day more.

When he was finished, the immortal made him lie down, and lied beside him. On a weakness moment, he let his warm magic aura, the energy that enveloped him, extend to the human, who breathed deeply in pleasure.

The thanks floated in the air. And, even if Tony was clearly the most vulnerable one in that situation, he felt more exposed than ever.

 

___

 

By coincidence, destiny or pure irony, the television announced right days after that the same terrorist cell that abducted Stark the last time had performed an attack in Manhattan. Once he knew it, Loki went to Stark’s Tower. The silence was almost peaceful. Peaceful like a lion would be before the zebra came up.

Everything was unbroken, at least. He couldn’t suppress the pride he felt for that human, who was obviously more controlled. Was _evolving._ Because of him.

Perhaps chaos didn’t have vocation for destruction only, after all.

He found him at his workshop, tinkering. He looked compulsive. Dirty from grease, sunken stomach, mugs after mugs of coffee disposed on any sufficiently horizontal surface. But he was alright. He was channeling it down. He was creating, controlling, planning. _Functioning._ Hadn’t broken.

But, for a moment, Loki didn’t want that. He wanted the sobbing body against his, longing for support. He wished to feel his tears on his chest while he held him, as if he was the only thing that could save him. Everything he needed to save himself.

And, with a second look, he could see that Tony _looked_ functional, but he _wouldn’t_ be, in fact, until the storm broke down with all its force, and destroyed everything it had to destroy. And Loki, _well_. Loki was willing to _return_ the favor.

But Tony, surprised by the sudden sight of Loki in the same room as himself, didn’t understand the dark look the way it was meant to be understood. “Please, Loki… I swear I’m trying.” He left out a controlled and soft sob. “I didn’t cry and didn’t destroy anything, I’m working on the armor… I won’t say I’m in my best shape, but I’m getting better.” He swallowed. “I swear.”

He realized, then, that the mortal was scared of him - a relative fear, of course. Fear that he would punish him for his weakness, fear that he would cause him _pain_ again. And, there was Loki, prepared to _take pain_ for the mortal.

He approached Stark, who flinched a little, but didn’t back down. _Good mortal._ Then he put his hands on his shoulders softly. “You are doing very well. You are being functional, without losing time.” He declared. “I am proud.”

It illuminated something on the man’s eyes. “Then why…?” He was _confused,_ so confused he almost lost his balance when his muscles relaxed too fast after too much tension.

Soon he had his chest supported by the God’s, his head on his shoulder. “Because I do think it is not the time to be that strong, yet.” Loki released slowly. “I think you need to let yourself break down for one afternoon, sleep well for one night, and then go back to being functional by the morning.” He concluded.

“But if I stop, they will…”

“They will be careful from now on, Tony. You can give yourself the luxury of today.” He shrugged, allowing himself to inhale the mortal’s smell, allowing his hands to map the line of the spine and the arms that he liked. “But _only_ today.”

Tony nodded softly, letting the breath escape his lungs quickly as he relaxed against the warm body of the taller one. Then he nodded again, parting himself from him a little. “Thank you.” He said lowly, smiling softly.

The God only nodded, but didn’t allow him to separate himself further than arm’s length. “Do you have more bacon?” He asked. And that was ridiculous. _Everything_ was ridiculous. The _excuse_ that he had to give to stay, to not let the mortal break by himself, because he was afraid that he would be more ruined than he himself could repair. It was _ridiculous._ The _glint_ that came from those brown eyes when he heard him speak, when he understood what that meant. Coming from the very same person that had been a monster from the beginning to the end for him.

That sounded strangely wrong.

But the inventor saw nothing of that. He simply nodded and, smiling, took him to the kitchen while talking to the ghost on his ceiling to have more food delivered, with bacon.

And it was all new to him. And, if there was something Loki _hated_ , was to feel anything beyond hate.

(It was really good for his sanity, and for Stark’s, that he wasn’t really honest with himself.)

 

___

 

When Loki finally knew, through Jarvis, what was happening to Tony, he heard the explosion. Searched the nearer window and, when he saw smoke, he teleported to the top of the closest building.

Tony was down there, on the bottom of a crater, _laughing._ And a monster roughly as tall as the building he was standing looking a little like a snake, was going to him with all its might.

One didn’t have to be a genius to realize that Tony was going to die there. He was. Tony Stark was nothing but a mortal, and one that, even being so, ran towards danger, believing his armor made him immortal, fortified his organs and muscles, when, truly, they weren’t more than too fragile tissue for Loki to feel comfortable watching the human being smashed. But there was no time, and the noise reverberated through every construction around them - broken asphalt, strong thumb, broken metal.

_Stupid mortal._

The God saw Fury approach running, people around him, trying to position themselves strategically to slaughter the animal. Tony should have been the closest agent, and, instead of waiting for back up, had started all by himself. And Loki _hated._ Hated Fury for allowing it, for making _his_ mortal go towards danger without any help. Hated himself for allowing to feel affection for that mortal, who, he had forgotten for some days, was nothing but that: fleeting, an ephemeral spark of life that materialized itself at the same speed that it was extinguished. And hated, beyond everything, Tony Stark, for _dying without his authorization._

He thought for a moment that maybe his eyes had been poisoned somehow, when he realized the blinding light that he saw was coming from under the pile of concrete and dust. The God was into a state of confusion for many seconds, until he realized that the light was, actually, one of the inventor’s weapons, coming from his armor, and _slicing_ the huge animal up like he was nothing but butter under hot sun.

From under the debris, Tony was dragged to Banner by Barton and Rogers. He chuckled and coughed blood, and his reactor was slowly losing its brightness, but he was alive.

_Alive._

The power Stark developed. Loki had always depreciated human’s technology, and now he would certainly have to revise his concepts. Many of his concepts, actually, because it hadn’t crossed his mind that his human, _his human_ , claimed by option, possessed a mind capable of developing something that could match himself in power. It wasn’t that he subjugated the man’s intelligence, no - he just hadn’t expected to see him as an _equal_ so suddenly.

And now his imagination ran through every possible way, from the one he took Stark to other Realms, allowing him to learn how to build and forge new weapons, watching the clever and curious glint in his eyes; to the prospect where Loki gifted him Uru and he used the metal to create something so powerful that could kill even Thor, or Odin. Loki didn’t even have the intention of killing his stepfather, or his brother, for this matter; but the perspective that Stark _could_ crossed his chest like an ice spear, bringing fear and making his heart try to beat stronger to compensate the cold, leaving him shivering and tingling in all the wrong places.

Looking down again, on the other hand, he saw it wasn’t the time - those stupid mortals were trying to grasp the right way to position and interlock the new reactor, Tony unconscious on his arms, and the God couldn’t just _watch_ anymore.

“Stupid humans.” He snarled and grabbed the gauntlet from Banner’s hands after materializing beside them, leveraging the absence of reaction - he himself would look that way, he admitted to himself, if he was in their shoes - to position the reactor correctly. The humming sound that came from it assured them that the _thing_ was, indeed, working.

Loki’s hand flew to Tony’s forehead and glowed a soft shade of yellow. It wasn’t common for the God of Lies to mark a human like one of his, pupils, priests and protected. It was a risk for him, a demonstration of weakness, of fondness, of respect, and a neon sign that Loki _cared_ about that being enough to give the signaled one his blessings.

But, well, desperate measures in desperate times, and all of that stuff that humans used to say.

“What are you doing to him?” Clint was being stopped from flying to the immortal’s neck by the Captain America’s arms, who had a heart big enough to, perhaps, not see the amount of maleficent actions he could have been doing on that very moment. Possession wasn’t one, for sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t, let’s say, capture someone inside their own mind, or kill him with his bare hands, he supposed.

But the Captain had seen something, as well as Banner, who watched in silence, and Loki was slightly thankful for that.

“I need a whisky.” Was the first thing that came from the almost-dead-again playboy, who smiled and opened his eyes. When he focalized Loki, however, his smile was undone in painful shards. His breath became too fast and Banner quickly helped him with soothing words on how to control the panic attack - because, yes, that’s what he was having - and make it go away as soon as possible, and to avoid letting it get to the point where Tony could need to be sedated, thing everyone knew Tony preferred not to be, if possible.

Loki didn’t want to see anything else, however. That’s why he went to Fury, glaring at him, and disappeared.

 

___

 

“You gave me a scar.” The human told him with a smirk, a month later, when Loki gave up fighting against his will to go to the Tower and verify if he had guarded himself like he should have, the signal about his health and wellbeing a connection like a golden thread of energy always pulling him towards the priest.

He realized he would regret it a lot.

“I spoke to Thor. He said it’s your sigil.” Tony’s shoulder was leaning against the open door, arms crossed in front of his chest, wearing baggy clothes of earthy shades that seemed to be comfortable, but that weren’t even close to be appropriated garments to welcome him. Loki couldn’t grasp when the mortal had ceased to fear him, in what moment he had let his control slip from his fingers, and he didn’t like it at all. Everything was starting to become irksome, dangerous, and it wasn’t how he had planned things to go.

For a moment, the deity’s stomach shrank, cold, against his other organs. Who was afraid was _him._ Afraid of the possibility of disapproval coming from Stark, of the possibility that it would mark him irreversibly. Afraid that Stark wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, because he showed himself to his stupid shield brothers.

But _this_ , this was all his fault. _He_ had called Loki, inviting him in, wrapped him around his rough fingers in such a way Loki couldn’t find out. He thought he was the on to possess, when truly he was being possessed by the wish to please Stark, to give the human pleasure in every way he has ever known, to reach the metal of the stars and give everything to him, to have him forge something that made him feel safe, even if it would be used against himself, just to see those brown eyes glimmer the way they did after a particularly intense night between them. He had become addicted to the worship Stark offered him, and realized he would do _anything_ , even if it meant to arise Ragnarök, to have it returned to him.

The mortal seemed to have other plans, though.

 “I like it.” He smiled, uncrossing his arms and looking again like the adorably receptive creature who lured him there. It wasn’t Stark-equal anymore, the man who forged weapons with his own thoughts and materialized the impossible with his bare hands, but _his_ Stark, the one who abandoned himself in his bloodied hands with the only wish to be accepted in all of his faces, and to be consumed with the most intense fire Loki possessed. He would give everything, by the condition he would earn the same.

And what a beautiful trap he had set to Loki without the God suspecting anything. That, usually, was Thor’s role – to be tricked, or left behind – which made everything even more confusing. His mind was turning too fast, and the God felt like he needed more time alone to mentally categorize those feelings and the reality’s fragments that had escaped his sight before.

But Tony ignored his necessity, and pushed it to the back of his mind with the simple act of taking two steps towards him.

“Made me feel more _yours._ ” He bit his lower lip slowly. “It was hard to explain to Clint what happened back there, but he ended up getting it, after all. Apparently, Natasha’s the same, somehow.” He smiled. “And you were his best boss yet, letting him sleep while you took guard and all of that.” He shrugged, touching the green eyed man’s collarbone with two fingers, focus not in his eyes anymore. “I missed you. Please, don’t vanish again.”

With that soft request, Tony let his weight fall forward with perfect trust – and it was rewarded with the same perfection when Loki, reacting by pure reflex, captured him gently between his arms, cradling him securely against his own chest.

The human closed his eyes and the God breathed deeply before doing it too. Because it didn’t matter what they were, what Stark meant in him was big enough to make all the noise of the world become a weak buzz at the back of his mind. The familiar smell of metal, grease and mortality took him to that place where he could have _peace_. And it was him, _him,_ in his eyes, his hair, his mouth and in every piece of his body, underneath his skin, making his muscles jump unwillingly, and his blood sing melodies he didn’t even know.

And it was him in his heart, in the very core of his being, painting a corner of Loki’s soul in blood red, hot and just his, against all the green that composed the God.

And Loki, he sighed. Fighting the impossible was nothing but useless, his wisdom told him. Even more stupid to fight his own wishes, understanding them or not.

And no one of them could say, truly, that they were unsatisfied to be _him_ for one another, even if strongly aware that the end of the world would be brought to that plane of existence by the two pairs of hands that held each other against the other on that very moment.

There wasn’t reason to hide anymore, and they both knew what it meant, willingly or not.

 

_I guess that’s love_

_I can’t pretend_

_I can’t pretend._

_Can’t Pretend_

_Tom Odell._

_Fin._


End file.
